A Dream Within A Dream
by Rose Evanescent
Summary: Struggling with the worst of both worlds, dealing with a Muggle family while fighting in wizarding conflicts, Hermione Granger wishes to leave the Mudblood-hating world behind and take her own life. But a chance meeting with a blonde-haired bully boy changes everything - could she and Draco be something more? Or are they living in a dream?
1. Chapter One

"God _damn_ you, Ron Weasley!" Hermione hissed, hot tears streaming down her cool cheeks as she ran out of the Yule Ball, digging her nails into her new pink dress and tearing bits from it, leaving a trail of tattered scraps behind her. She hated him, hated Harry Potter, hated this whole dance too. Hermione had just danced with the most handsome boy in Durmstrang, Viktor Krumm, and they had to ruin her night.

Ripping the shoulder off her dress in disgust and throwing it on the ground behind her, Hermione stepped into the courtyard, relishing the bite of cold air washing over her smooth skin. No one would follow her out here where the snow fell, icy and sharp, and all the better. She didn't like people to see her cry – it was weak, making her Mudblood moniker ever more useable.

As she leaned on the edge of the stone wall, where the other side was a drop so seep it would kill anyone who fell into it, Hermione felt the word "_Mudblood"_ burn her, sear her bones like a brand. Her parents appeared in her mind's eye, her Muggle parents, who could go about life happily, with no idea of the storm about to engulf Hogwarts, the awful Lord Voldemort, the wizard wars. Hermione wanted so badly to just be a pureblood, to have magic flow easily, naturally from her veins, requiring so little effort. Instead, she had the worst of both worlds – a Muggle struggling with being adept at magic along with the burden of wizard conflict.

But her becoming a pureblood, becoming normal…

That was sure to never happen.

The abyss whirled deep below her, and she swore she saw eyes staring back at her from it.

Sick of it all, dread pooling in her lungs like thick black tar, Hermione stepped out of her shoes and hoisted herself onto the edge of that courtyard wall, her determination cutting off her need for warmth and the protection of inside Hogwarts. Here, where just she stood, felt like the edge of the world, and the icy winds whipping around her, tossing her auburn hair about, made her feel so naked, so exposed, so…truly pure. She felt how fragile she really was.

Here, she was pure. Above the world, tatters of dress billowing about her, winglike.

The image stuck to her mind, a childhood memory of a little baby bird her father had found on the ground outside his dentist's office. Trancelike, Hermione recalled its bulbous head, its helpless, bare wings. It was so fragile, that little chick, never getting an opportunity to fly.

It was the reject of the bird world. The failure.

But Hermione would be different.

She would fly.

Suddenly, a strong blast of icy wind shoved Hermione's knees forward, and she tumbled forward, down into the abyss. Freezing air shocked her at first, filling her lungs with cold, and she felt herself falling ever quicker, plummeting faster than the snowflakes, hurtling through the blackness. She knew there was no time for remorse now, no time for regret, but as the rocks below came ever clearer, Hermione's heart wanted her to be somewhere else, someplace warm and still where she could die peacefully, not here, crushed upon the rocks like a broken china doll. Hermione wished, with the last fleeting moments of her life, that she was home, then steeled herself to forever embrace the earth –

"_Wingardium leviosa!_"

Everything stopped, and the air stuck hard in Hermione's throat. She opened her eyes to see she was floating merely inches above the stone, arms spread wide, shivering. Then, slowly, she began to rise up through the air, higher and higher until she was level again with the courtyard wall. Two arms grabbed her from behind and held her limp form to them. Hermione quaked and curled into her savior's chest, which she discovered was bonier than Ron's chest yet leaner than Harry's. She was drained and frightened.

"C-cold," she murmured to the young man, feeling so small against him. "P-please take me…inside…don't t-tell anyone I j-jumped…"

"Why would I tell anyone that, Granger?" he replied, pulling his ceremonial robes tighter around her to keep her cozy and comforted. "A Slytherin saving a Gryffindor? That's just unheard of."

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She saw the emerald-green waistcoat right before her nose, and his black coat was sprinkled with delicate crystalline snowflakes. Finally she looked up and saw the flutter of his white-blonde hair. It was Malfoy.

"No…no…l-let me go..I'm fine…just leave me at my dorm r-room…"

"I am not going to leave you alone in this state, Granger, don't be an idiot. Your teeth are clacking like castanets, your skin is white as paper, and you really do need some rest. Ow, stop shoving me, girl!"

Heeding his firm but caring tone, Hermione reluctantly rested her heavy head against his warm chest. Watching with weary eyes as he carried her down the halls emptied by the Yule Ball, she noticed he was taking her to the Slytherin common room. Draco draped his black coat over her like a blanket as they went up the flight of spiral stairs to his room. There, outside his private dorm with the carved mahogany door with two snakes curling around the edges, Hermione struggled against him.

"I thought you were taking me to the sick wing."

"No, Granger. That would start gossip about you being suicidal and angst-ridden and me being a hero and…we don't want that to happen, hm?"

"Being a hero's not so bad, Malfoy."

"It is to me. Now hush. Don't worry yourself on these things."

After unlocking his door with a flick of his wand, Draco carried Hermione inside.

His room was less small and homey than her and rather sumptuous, with a king-sized canopy bed hung with sheer dark green curtains, covered in emerald-silk sheets and a black and silver comforter. An ebony writing desk sat in the corner of the room, everything on it meticulously organized, all neatly stacked textbooks and organized potion bottles – Hermione could say that organization was a trait they both shared, if in different ways. Along with that, his Quidditch broom leaned against the wall. His window was fit with stained glass of light green and clear, and part of it was a stained-glass serpent, tongue out, teeth bared.

"Don't keep me here, Malfoy…" Hermione groaned in half-hearted desperation as he laid her down gently on the bed, pulling the gorgeous green silk around her form and tucking her in. "What will your dorm mates think?"

Draco laughed, flashing his peppermint-white teeth. "You really think I have dorm mates, Granger? With my one king-sized bed? My father bought me my own private dorm here in Hogwarts. Did you really believe Crabbe and Goyle sleep with me?"

Hermione gave a hiccup of a giggle. "It would certainly – er – _deepen_ your companionship if you did sleep with them."

"Oi, I didn't mean it in that way!" Draco laughed, offended at first, then smiling. "You have a dirty mind, Granger." He crossed the room to light a candle on his desk.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked. But it was too late when she realized what she'd said to take it back.

"'Course not," Draco replied, blowing out the smoldering match, He stood by the window, and Hermione's eyes traced his illuminated self. She admired his slightly curved torso the arch of his back under his undone white dress shirt and unbuttoned green waistcoat. His blonde hair remained combed nicely still after the Yule Ball, but a rebel strand of hair fell over his carved cheekbone. Hermione felt a twinge of affection once she noticed the little frown of concentration he made as he undid the clasp of the heavy black curtains, covering the window so the only light in the room was that of the candle on the desk, its golden tongue dancing playfully. Hermione found herself most fixated on Draco's lips, those light pink, thin lips that some strange part inside of her wanted to kiss.

Draco removed his waistcoat and draped it over his desk chair, picking up his wand. Murmuring a spell, he conjured up two hot dry towels that he tucked in beneath Hermione's cold bare feet. She watched his slender arms wind around her legs, observed his lithe figure move beneath white shirt.

"Thank you," she whispered, cuddling the mass of blankets to her body. Wiggling herself deeper into the sheets, she found herself completely exhausted.

"Don't mention it, Granger," Malfoy answered, returning to the door; Hermione had no idea why he was being so kind to her all of a sudden, but now she was too tired to care. "You 're welcome. Now close your eyes, get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Call me Draco – Goodnight."

Hermione felt a smile on her lips. "Goodnight, Draco."

After the door closed, Hermione was rocked to sleep by the sound of soft snow outside. She put her face into the pillow that had the scent of Draco – cologne and aftershave smells in the sheets, a musk of pine and earthy scents.

It lulled Hermione to sleep, and she had a restful sleep, dreaming of nothing but flying lessons and two grey eyes watching over her.


	2. Chapter Two

Dawn light streamed through the window, and it took Hermione a drowsy moment to remember where she was. Sitting up in her torn Yule Ball dress, she rubbed her sleepy eyes and stretched; her bra was mightily uncomfortable, so she took it off, leaving it on the bed, and then adjusted her dress to properly cover herself. Draco must've come into his room and opened the window, she thought. But Hermione's mind was changed when she saw an eagle owl sitting on the windowsill, a note tied with green ribbon in its beak. It eyed her silently with its golden eyes, so Hermione decided to go and get Malfoy.

Getting out of bed with his quilt wrapped around her shoulders, she padded across the hardwood floor and into the hallway, making her way downstairs, then into the Slytherin common room. No one was there, save the crackling fireplace and Draco, who had removed a whistling pot from the fire and was pouring the tea into two cups. Looking up, he saw her and extended a saucer towards her.

"Ah good – you're up," he observed, giving her the cup. "I just brewed this for you. Sugar? Cream?"

"Yes – cream, please," Hermione replied. Draco nodded and poured a generous dose of cream into her cup, which was just what Hermione liked, letting it billow out as a milky flower in her steaming beverage. She stirred it in and drank some, watching Draco set aside the cream and instead plop five cubes of sugar into his tea.

"You like sugar, huh?" Hermione asked, cupping her tea with both hands and blowing on it.

"I have quite the sweet tooth," Draco replied with a smile – he took a gentlemanly sip of tea and coughed, wincing. "Ooh, burned my tongue! Got to pace myself."

Hermione curled up on the green common room sofa, heating her hands with the warm cup of steaming tea; the piece of furniture smelled of patchouli oil. She thought the only thing missing was her purring ginger cat, Crookshanks. Malfoy sat down next to her and used his wand to play with the dead ashes in the fireplace, swirling them into amusing figures and pictures. One was an accurate portrayal of a sour Professor McGonagall, and another was the wizened face of Dumbledore; Draco made Dumbledore's eyebrows waggle amusingly, and Hermione chuckled. Then Draco let the ashes fall dead. He cleared his throat.

"So," he said. "I was thinking about yesterday night…"

"Yes?"

"And…I was wondering why you wanted to off yourself."

"Funny," Hermione replied, taking a sip of tea. "I was wondering why you wanted to save me."

"Answer me first, Granger." There was firmness in his voice, but none of his usual venom.

"It was all an accident," Hermione tried to laugh, thinking she was actually being quite successful at her attempt. "The wind and all. You don't need to take it so seriously."

"Don't lie, Granger," Draco said. "You get all breathy and quick when you lie. Please tell me the truth." At this close proximity, he noticed she smelled so good and sweet. It stirred something inside of him, but he gulped and kept his feeling down.

Hermione felt a knot in her stomach. "I don't know why I did it," she answered. "And I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I was alone. I've felt alone these past few days. And Ron really hasn't been a help at all, nor Harry with all this Tournament business he's gotten into."

"You? Alone?" Draco laughed. "Come off it, Granger. You've been in the newspaper at least every other day due to the Tournament. And you were asked out by Viktor Krumm to the Yule Ball. _Viktor Krumm_. The best Quidditch player to have ever existed."

"Well that doesn't mean I'm not lonely," she retorted. "Newspapers only serve gossip about me and Harry, me and Harry, me and bloody Harry Potter. And since Viktor Krumm asked me out, do you think I've been loved by all the girls I've ever known? They hate me for it! And besides, Viktor isn't even my type. He's burly and brusque and has not a bit of intellect in him…"

Draco eyed her gently and patted her knee. "I understand you now, Granger. I'm…sorry you've felt this way. Truly I am…"

"Don't you go spreading rumors about me though, Malfoy," Hermione said quickly. "All the newspaper fodder is enough. I don't want stories going about that I'm suicidal too. Teachers don't like unstable students."

Laughing, he set down his tea on the coffee table. "Is that what you care about most?" he snorted. "Your grades?"

Hermione gave him a dirty look, and he wished he hadn't added such a note of disdain to his voice. "So Malfoy," she said. "You never answered my question as to why you saved me."

Draco's stomach now knotted. "Because the school wouldn't be the same without you, Granger," he said, imitating Professor McGonagall in her strained, English accented voice. "Five hundred points for Gryffindor, just for Ms. Granger's wonderful achievements!"

Hermione sneered. "You're an ass when you don't want to show emotions, did you know that?"

"Yes, yes I did…and usually I'm an ass all the time," Draco responded. He noticed his hand hadn't moved from Hermione's knee. Hermione apparently noticed it too, for she slapped it away playfully.

"Well, sad to admit, you do make better company than Ron Weasley," she confided. "I just hope you won't be loose-tongued about my moment of weakness to everyone…Please Draco, promise me you won't tell?"

Hearing her say his name made him shiver, but he just smiled smoothly. "The only one I'll be loose with my tongue with is you, Granger," he remarked casually, standing and leaning against the fireplace. "And sad to admit, I think I'd feel awful if I spread some gossip about you. Just don't tell all of Hogwarts I saved you, alright?"

Suddenly, the door to the passageway jiggled, and Hermione jumped up in fright of being caught in the Slytherin common room alone with Draco Malfoy. Draco leapt forward to, throwing his quilt off her shoulders onto the sofa and ushering her towards the fireplace.

"Oh Merlin, Merlin," Hermione panted. "This can't actually be happening." A sweat broke out on her forehead. She heard voices just outside.

"Don't fret, girl," Draco assured; he handed Hermione a handful of powder, which she felt between her fingers to be fine as sand. "Throw this in the fireplace and jump inside, visualizing your dorm room fireplace. Do as I say, quick!"

Hermione grinned back at him. "Whatever can I do to repay you?"

"Meet me tomorrow in the courtyard at dawn," he whispered. "Now go, Granger!"

Hermione threw the powder down and jumped into the green flames it conjured, and before she knew it, she landed with a whump in her dorm room, flat on her ass. All her friends were asleep in their beds, and Ginny, who was now awake from Hermione's landing, sat up in bed and grinned.

"Graceful entrance, m'lady," Ginny giggled. "I won't ask where you've been, only that your dress it torn and you look disheveled. Did you and the Krumm have a little fun rumble?"

"No," Hermione laughed, getting up and straightening herself, beginning to remove the millions of bobby pins in her hair. She needed a shower and more tea. "I'm virtuous as Diana, you know that."

"Mhmm," Ginny mumbled, looking less than convinced. "And it appears too that your – ahem – brazier is absent."

"Oh, bloody hell!"Hermione swore, turning beet-red. She recalled she left her bra on Malfoy's bed, but there was nothing she could do about it now. The brainy Gryffindor girl just undressed and gathered her things for a shower. "I guess I have a lot of explaining to do, eh Gin?"

"You most certainly do!"

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione disappeared into the fireplace right before the door opened and all the Slytherin students poured in. Some just filed to their rooms, but Crabbe and Goyle gravitated immediately towards Malfoy.

"Looks like someone spent the night on the sofa," Goyle chuckled, motioning to the quilt on the sofa and biting off a piece of licorice he had kept in his robes pocket for Merlin knows how long.

Draco gave a hearty laugh and rubbed his neck. "Yes, hard night, you rats…I need to go off to bed now. Got a crick in my neck."

"Aw, come on, Draco," Crabbe whined. "You promised you'd go with us to Spintwitches to get some new Quidditch boots."

"You two go off to Hogsmeade without me…I need an extra few hours," Draco grinned, grabbing his quilt and walking up to his room. He did desperately need some sleep, especially if he was going to meet Hermione tomorrow morning. Draco closed the door to his room and turned to see his eagle owl, Persephone, sitting on the windowsill patiently, a letter in her beak. He stroked the owl's fuzzy head and cracked the seal of wax on his letter, reading it with the upmost attention and dread. The years of Persephone delivering sweets to Malfoy were over. Now all she delivered were letters from his father asking him how he was doing in Hogwarts...more like how he was doing on his Dark Lord's missions. Draco felt his heart grow heavier as he read the letter, but he stroked his owl's feathers and gave her a good-sized piece of rat jerky he kept in a little purple velvet bag by her cage. The creature deserved something, even if the letter was not satisfactory. Persephone thanked him with a throaty coo and flew away.

Placing his letter on the desk, Draco stripped off his shirt and went over to his bed, tired and aching. As he turned down the bedspread, he blushed with embarrassment. There was Hermione's bra, the color of pink coral, nestled in the sheets. He picked it up gingerly by its strap and looked at it curiously. Without having to press his nose to it or get closer to it at all, he could smell it. The piece of her clothing smelled just like her sweetness, her natural perfume, only amplified. Draco realized this cloth had been right against her skin, against the most intimate parts of her, and he flushed even harder. Carefully he folded her bra up, marveling at its softness, and placed it on the chair of his desk. Why on earth had she left it in his bed? To tempt him with a token? No, he thought. More likely Granger just forgot she took it off. That's all. She's a good girl, not like in any of your fantasies, Draco.

Draco crawled into bed and breathed slowly, so he could lull himself to sleep. He could smell her intoxicating scent on the pillow, and he could smell it in the sheets. Draco wound the sheets all around him, gasping with amazement, and he yearned for her with his entire body. He wondered what their scents smelled like together, fused and powerful. Draco's hands gripped the thin sheets till his knuckles turned white. Merlin, she smelled delicious.

A few days ago, he'd hated that Gryffindor girl. But now things had changed so quickly. Draco regretted calling her Mudblood and taunting her. He could see her now in her truest form. She was not unbreakable Granger. She was Hermione, with a heart true and precious. And how he wanted her.

As he fell asleep, he planned tomorrow out carefully, and then once he was satisfied, he let Hermione's sweet smell carry him into the abyss of blissful sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

Dearest readers,

Please give me some feedback on this story - I would like to know how I'm doing and how I can improve it. Also, I don't know if I should continue it or not. Please tell me what you think of ADWAD in the reviews.

Thanks, guys! Enjoy!

* * *

Dawn light fell softly on the fresh morning snow, gleaming off is pure white surface with a golden-pink hue. Draco waited for Hermione in the courtyard where she had tried to jump just a night before, now wrapped snugly in his green-and-black striped scarf and heavier black winter robes. His crisp white dress shirt peeped its collar out of his robes to see the world. Breath billowing in white clouds from his thin lips, Draco grew increasingly anxious to see Hermione again. He made sure his blonde hair was slicked back properly, checked his breath to find it was fortunately minty-fresh. _Merlin_, he didn't know why he cared so much for her, but when he smelled her sweet scent floating towards him, his heart hiccupped by a happy little bird…

"Alright, Malfoy, I'm here at your request," Hermione smirked, standing before him looking lovely all bundled in her warmer winter robes and red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf; her hair hung loose in voluminous auburn waves, Fiery smile lighting up her dark eyes, Hermione shuffled the cloth book satchel she had slung over her shoulder.

"You look all ready to go on an adventure, Granger."

"Well who knows where you'd want to take me on my journey to repay you." Blushing pink at what she said, she looked down, and when Draco saw her go red in the face, he flushed too.

"We won't go too far, I promise," he grinned rakishly. "Come on!" Taking her by the crook of the arm, he dashed down the snowy pathway to where a horse-pulled carriage waited for them. Draco helped her up into her seat and hopped in after her. Tapping the driver on the shoulder with one of his green gloves, Draco said, "To Hogsmeade!" With the crack of a whip, the carriage set off with a jolt, horse kicking up spurts of snow as it trotted along.

Feeling her cheeks tight from smiling and bright red as cherries, Hermione laughed in her clear, crisp voice. "I feel like I'm being taken on a date!" she chuckled.

Pulling the scarlet fleece blanket from its compartment box on the side on the door, Draco draped it over their legs and pulled it up to cover Hermione's lap. "Well, I just want to show you the joys of going out on the weekend, not just studying in your dorm room all day and night," he sneered playfully, bumping his shoulder against hers. "So, milady, where in Hogsmeade do you wish to go?"

"I don't see why you're doing all this for me."

"I won't be taking you anywhere if you don't tell me where you want to go."

Hermione sighed at the insufferable boy. "What about Tomes and Scrolls? They have a buy one get one free sale on all the Potions books!"

Draco made a sound like a horse whinnying condescendingly. "Oh, Granger! That book shop is so dull! What about Spintwitches? It's so much better than that place full of dusty old books and that dusty old owner to go with it."

"Ugh. Spintwitches," Hermione gagged. "Where all the brainless Quidditch players go to brag about their stupid brooms and Snitch catches. Then just watch…in a few months when they break their legs, their careers will be all finished."

"You're quite opinionated on that subject, Miss Granger."

"Those Quidditch-playing fools are very opinionated about having unstable careers. I prefer stability." She took a look at him and sighed contritely. "I apologize, Draco, but I refuse to be surrounded by Neanderthals. That's all."

Malfoy tried to suppress a smile – how he loved her sharp comebacks. "Well how about we each go to our own shops then meet up afterwards?"

"That sounds like a reasonable compromise."

Grey eyes glittering, Draco drummed his fingers along the side of the door. "Then we can have a treat."

"A treat?"

"Yes, just for you."

"Why would you find the need to treat me to anything?"

"Just you wait and see, Granger. Just you wait and see."

* * *

Draco wandered down the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, just having let Hermione off on her way to that dreadful bookstore. He trudged through the snow and crowds of witches and wizards, pulling the note he'd received from Persephone only a few days ago. His father had been inquisitive about Draco's mission, but now Lucius was asking Draco to meet a fellow Death Eater in the Three Broomsticks. A gut feeling told Draco not to go, but he had no choice. He did his father's bidding, no matter what the consequence, for Lord Voldemort kept a close eye on the Malfoy clan, making sure they did precisely what he asked.

Entering the old pub, Draco peered about with his fine grey eyes until he saw a man in the corner with a black hood on watching him. Approaching the figure, Draco saw the man had black stubble coating his chin, thin red lips, and eerie light-blue eyes. Cocking a smile, the man greeted Malfoy and handed him a firewhiskey.

"Hullo, Malfoy Jr.," the man chuckled. "Glad you came to see me."

"Hello, sir." Hesitantly, Draco sat down and drank a sip of firewhiskey – it burned his throat and made him cough. The Death Eater thumped him hard on the back.

"Easy now, boy," he laughed deeply. "That stuff'll put hair on your chest!"

Draco managed to retrieve enough of his breath to wheeze out, "What is your name?"

"Can't tell you. But I can show you _this_."

The man clandestinely rolled up his heavy black sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark tattooed in black ink on his arm. That was enough to assure Draco.

"What is it you came for, sir?"

The man leaned forward in his chair and whispered to the young Malfoy, "Just between you and me, little man, I've been noticing your old man hasn't been doing so well at his job lately. Slipping, you know. Making more mistakes than usual. If he doesn't shape up, he'll be kicked out…most likely _worse_."

Draco glared at the man but kept his voice low. "How _dare_ you speak of my father like that."

"I'm not being insulting," the Death Eater replied firmly. "Only being truthful. I tell you to watch out, alright, boy? The Dark Lord doesn't take kindly to people who slip. Watch your step, and tell your father to watch his." Thumping his payment for the firewhiskey on the wooden table, the man stood, nodded to Draco, and left, pulling his hood over his head further against the cold.

Quietly, Draco pondered the conversation and felt as if this were all a strange dream. His father was slipping? It couldn't be. He shook his white-blonde head and dismissed the thought. After paying the barmaid and taking leave of the Three Broomsticks, Draco decided to go over to Spintwitches to get his mind off things. He knew the Quidditch sporting goods shop was a frequent haunt of Crabbe and Goyle, so he would be amongst friends. So caught up in his busy mind was Draco that he totally forgot where he would meet Hermione, and when, so he trod his way across Hogsmeade, through the high, fresh snow, making a beeline to Spintwitches.

* * *

Hermione gazed over the titles of the books, running her fingertips gingerly over their spines and savoring their dusty, ancient smell. She resolved to herself she could stay in the bookshop her entire life with all the new entries of books coming in. This was her favorite place of all to be, surrounded by hundreds of tomes of knowledge bound in delicious leather. Maybe, she thought, if she just remained here on the second level of Tomes and Scrolls, made it her little nook next to the window where she could be at home, with snow falling softly outside, she would be able to read all the books in the world. She could just sit there, buried in a book, and then recommend to other witches and wizards what books were the best. Though, she knew, she would think they were all the best.

Glancing at the big wooden clock carved with figures of elves and nymphs, Hermione saw it had been two hours she was in the store. She thought of where to meet Draco, but then she remembered they hadn't agreed on a meeting place. Standing, she looked out the window and gazed across Hogsmeade to gauge how far she'd have to walk to find him.

Suddenly, she spotted his flash of white-blonde hair as Draco entered Spintwitches, which was about a fifteen minute walk away from the bookshop. At least she knew where he was, and now Hermione made her way downstairs, bought a few on-sale potion books she had gathered, and made her way across Hogsmeade, a pile of books in her arms, auburn hair trailing behind her.

A little bell rung as she entered Spintwitches, and the smell of new rubber and fresh Quidditch gear hit her nose like a tidal wave. Quidditch players hung out all around, trying out new gear and admiring new brooms in their glass cases. Walking under a sign with a Snitch on it that read "CATCH This Deal Before It's Gone," Hermione drew strange looks from all the players. A bookworm with skinny frame, frizzy hair, and a pile of books in her arms was not a regular customer at a Quidditch gear store.

After searching down the fifth aisle, Hermione finally caught a glimpse of something familiar – Draco's green Slytherin scarf lying across a padded bench outside the Spintwitches dressing room. Hermione meandered over to the scarf and sat on the bench, looking at the numerous mirrors before her, the one's that showed all the angles of the reflected so they could admire their choice in Quidditch uniforms. Noticing Draco's shoes beneath the door of the dressing room down the hall, Hermione just waited outside patiently, burying her head in her new book _Hairy Snout, Human Heart,_ which Dumbledore had recommended for her.

"Ooh-_hoo_, looky here, it's the little Granger girl," a voice said from behind her – Hermione didn't need to turn to know it was Crabbe, and his constant cohort, Goyle. "What's a little bookworm like you doing at a place like Spintwitches?" The two imbeciles sat on either side of her, squeezing her tiny frame between them menacingly.

For a moment, Hermione was at a loss for words. She really didn't know what to say to the two idiots – all they would serve to do would be spreading rumors about she and Draco if she told them the truth. So Hermione did what she did best. She took a deep breath, ran over the lines in her head, and lied.

"I'm Draco's tutor," she said clearly, enunciating every word and tapping the potions books she'd bought. "He's been goofing off in potions class and asked me to help him with his studies, Vincent."

"Oh wow, that's a good one, Granger," Goyle guffawed. "I bet you're in _looooove_ with him."

Hermione flushed. "Of course not. I'm strictly his tutor."

"Sure, sure. Oh, look, here he comes now, your little crush!"

Draco exited the dressing room, his torso clothed in Slytherin Quidditch gear but the lower half of him wearing white compression shorts only, shorts so tight they left little to the imagination. Malfoy took a look at his companions and paled when he saw Granger. Their eyes met, and then they looked away from each other. "H-Hermione…" Draco stuttered.

"Wow look at _that_," Crabbe chuckled, elbowing Hermione and pointing at the assets Draco's shorts showed off. "That's without padding too!"

Draco's grey eyes narrowed. "Crabbe."

But by now it was too late – Malfoy's Slytherin cohorts erupted into a pile of laughter. "He calls it his Nimbus!" Goyle chortled, tears streaming down his cheeks. Hermione, crushed between them, turned as red as a beet and looked anywhere but at that particular part of Malfoy.

"_Goyle_!"

"Oh no, I've got the best one!" Crabbe roared with laughter. "The Slytherin serpent has nothing on _that_ snake!"

"Both of you idiots shut up!" Draco shouted, his face ten times redder than Hermione's. "Get out of here right now or I shall kick you out myself!"

This outburst sobered both of them who stood and walked out, not before Crabbe whispered in Hermione's ear loud enough for all to hear, "Enjoy _tutoring_ him tonight, Granger." Trailing laughter behind them, the cohorts walked out of Spintwitches, leaving Draco and Hermione facing each other.

"I'm…sorry, Granger," Malfoy said, trying to laugh it off sadly; he felt a mix of anger, frustration, shame, and amusement whirling through his head.

"It's fine, Draco – childish boys, that's all they are," she replied, trying to laugh it off also without meeting his eyes as she fiddled with the edge of a potion book. "Just…go change and then we'll leave, alright?"

"Okay." Draco retired to the dressing room, feeling crestfallen and stupid. Those damned idiots he was friends with. All he had wanted was a nice afternoon with the lovely Hermione, and he couldn't even have that.

After he was dressed properly, Draco and Hermione exited Spintwitches and crunched through the Hogsmeade snow; seeing the Gryffindor girl carrying an armful of books, Draco took the volumes from her and held them himself so she wouldn't be burdened by them. Hermione was touched by his gesture, but she was also so embarrassed from the Crabbe and Goyle encounter that she kept her guard up around Draco.

"So…how about that treat?" Draco smiled weakly, trying not to let desperation seep through his grey eyes.

Hermione stopped and faced him, face inquisitive. "Where should we go for the treat?"

"Well…I was thinking…" Draco stuttered, nervously scratching the back of his neck; this was so unlike the usual him. "…Madame Puddifoot's Teashop?"

Hermione threw her head back and gave a laugh so clear and loud that all of Hogsmeade must have heard it. "Puddifoot's? You mean where all the love-struck couples go to gaze in each other's eyes and put their tongues in each other's mouths? Do you intend to take me on a date?"

_Yes. _"Uh…no…course not, Granger." Malfoy scratched the back of his neck again. "I was kidding about the Puddifoot's treat. I hope you had a good time today."

Seeing he was embarrassed again, Hermione flushed and felt ashamed for making him shy away. "I really did, Draco. Thank you for taking me," she said gently, putting her hand on his forearm and squeezing it softly. "I got a lot of good books and really did need to get out today. Thanks."

Draco looked down into her kind dark eyes and felt something hitch up in his chest, something deliciously painful at seeing Granger before him, gazing up at him. "Here…here's the money to pay for your books," Draco said, pouring out a handful of coins from his coin bag and handing them to Hermione.

"You don't have to do that," she laughed.

"I want to."

"Well…then thank you."

Draco accompanied Hermione all the way to their horse-drawn carriage and rode with her back to Hogwarts. After she murmured her final, wallflower goodbye, clutching her books to her, looking at him from under her curtain of cinnamon-colored hair, Draco spent from their parting to sunset in the courtyard, just getting his breath back. Well, their date that afternoon had fallen flat, and even worse…Malfoy's father was failing in Voldemort's eyes, which made Draco very worried indeed.

Draco threw a handful of snow over the courtyard's stone wall and watched it disappear into the abyss. Couldn't things go right, just once?


	4. Chapter Four

Draco hated Professor Sprout's botany class more than anything in the world, especially when the sun from the perfect day outside hit him square in the face from an open greenhouse window. It practically taunted him.

Today they were taking a quiz on venomous molds, and Draco caught himself more than once letting his mind wander to where he was flying high above the Quidditch field on his broom, weightless, free, spinning and diving through the air, sunshine warming his back, refreshing breeze blasting through his pale gold hair.

When he managed to come back to earth, Draco realized he had drawn the faint outlines of Hermione Granger's face on the margins of his paper, capturing the likeness of her petite nose, the slender curves of her lips beneath her dark, mirthful eyes.

Quickly, Draco erased the pencil sketch until the parchment went hot with friction and a small hole burned through, eliminating her visage. Noticing everyone else had completed the quiz, Draco guessed on the remaining questions, circling random answers darkly and handing the sheet to Professor Sprout to the groans of relief from the class.

As he sat down, Draco knew he was smarter than that, to be the last one to turn in a quiz. Even more surprisingly, he knew he would get a low score, and worse, he didn't even seem to care.

He just wanted this class over with. Maybe if he went fast enough, he could catch up to Hermione in the hallway.

Bells rang, and as the class shuffled out the door, Draco huddled toward the front of the moving mass, hoping to get to the front. But his anxiousness could afford him no protection from the sudden fist against his shoulder.

Wincing, Malfoy lifted his grey eyes to see a Gryffindor boy with two Hufflepuff girls. They were all smiling at him, chuckling.

"Way to keep us waiting, ferret," the boy spat, followed by a giggling of the girls. "Think you're so tough, but you can't even fill out a quiz in time. You'd think the son of Lucius Malfoy would at least have a private tutor so he could do _well_ in his classes."

Draco didn't even feel like retorting back, just gave the boy a sneer and shoved past, chest aching with wounded pride. Focusing on the hallway before him with burning eyes, Draco ignored the raucous laughs of half the class behind him as he passed, tried to keep going at a fast clip to see Hermione.

Oh, Hermione. She was his sweet release from the bleak Hogwarts, a moment of intelligence, wit, brightness in the grey. She shone through like a star in the blackness of his hate-filled world.

Though he ridiculed Potter in so many ways, including the news stories he fed to that ditz Rita Skeeter and created those "POTTER STINKS" pins, Draco himself had been bullied. Being reserved to only a group of rich Purebloods does not win you the heart of Hogwarts, and as more people went to join Harry Potter, Draco found himself as the object of scorn to them, as an antagonist. First year, it seemed so trivial to not adore Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived.

But now?

Now Draco seemed the pinnacle of all evil in school, not an intelligent spell-caster and formidable Quidditch player, but a blonde bully, relentless, a _viper_. Draco hated it. He would let no one see him, but sometimes, when he was alone, he cried silently. He was no brilliant Hogwarts boy, but a slimy villain.

How could a villain win anyone's heart, let alone the heart of heroine Hermione Granger?

Then, suddenly, as he made his way down the hall, Draco saw her, and for some reason, his heart seemed to skip a beat at just watching her walk by.

Hermione's auburn hair bounced on her shoulders to the walking beat. She walked with her natural grace, carrying herself lightly and confidently, all businesslike. Her lips were a straight line, her features delicate and beautiful – chiseled, like that of a Greek statue.

She was Aphrodite, like Artemis, a goddess…

Draco wound his way through the flow of students, trying to make it look like a classroom was his goal, when all he really wanted was to be near _her_. His polished shoes couldn't click fast enough on the stone, and his breathing picked up. Merlin, he was so close…

Her natural scent flowed after her, something heavenly, something home. Oh, she smelled like cinnamon, like sweetness and peaches…

Draco shoved his way past a Ravenclaw and didn't look back. He was so close to her now, and he just wanted to shout her name, to get her attention. An itch to take her wrist and bring her into his room enveloped him whole. He was right behind her…Her small frame was just close enough for him to take her into his arms and –

"A_hem_."

Draco stopped in his tracks as a girl stepped in front of him, blocking him from Hermione. His grey eyes watched, crestfallen, as she moved away on down the hall, away, away, away to meet Harry Potter and go down a hallway with him.

With a frustrated gaze, Draco looked down to see the girl standing before him.

It was a frightening, very furious-looking Pansy Parkinson.

* * *

Hermione went off at a fast clip down the hallway, books pressed to her breasts. She had seen Draco in the hall, but ignored him as best she could. She knew he was trying to see her, but she couldn't have the whole of Hogwarts buzzing about their relationship. So she walked alone, reciting Defense Against the Dark Arts vocabulary to herself.

Out of the blue, her friend Harry appeared next to her, looking at her with pleading sorrow-green eyes.

"Hey, Hermione," he murmured.

"Harry," she greeted sharply; Hermione wished no ill between them, but was still wounded by his bad behavior at the Yule Ball.

"I – I'm truly sorry about last night," he said. "We're both sorry for our behavior…Ron and I. He wanted me to tell you he's sorry."

"Well, he can tell me that himself," Hermione retorted smartly, then softening. "I apologize, Harry. I've just been very busy lately and very stressed."

"'S alright. Hey…guess what Digory told me yesterday about the egg."

"What?" Hermione's mind was elsewhere.

"Don't get too excited," Harry chuckled darkly. "He told me to take a bath with it…and so I did…and I found out quite a few new things."

Hermione made herself pay attention to her friend. "That's excellent, Harry. What did you find?"

A slip of parchment slid into her palm. "Here's the riddle the egg sang to me. Maybe you and your brains can decipher it."

"Of course."

"And Hermione?"

"What?"

Harry looked at her kindly with his bottle-green eyes. "Thanks. For everything."

The corner of her mouth twitching with a grin, Hermione nodded. "You're welcome Harry. Don't worry about it. I just want you alive."

Harry squeezed her arm in recognition and let her walk away, watching his brilliant friend and wondering where her mind was floating off to today.

* * *

"Ms. LaLane," Snape muttered darkly. "Please read the second chapter of our new Potions volume."

"From the top?" Jeanie LaLane asked. Her equally air-headed friends giggled.

_No, from the bottom – read it backwards, you little twit_, Hermione thought sarcastically, running the tip of her raven-feathered quill along her bottom lip. She enjoyed her Potions class and all the materials and spells in her books seemed interesting and practical…even if some of her classmates were nitwits.

Severus Snape, draped in black robes with a permanent sneer on his thin lips, ruled the class with stern demeanor and harsh grading; he taught as one of the tougher, if not the toughest, teachers of Hogwarts, yet Hermione really liked him.

Snape was extremely intelligent, and though he was challenging, which made most student abhor him, Hermione loved the challenge immensely. The girl with the frizzy auburn hair, freckles, and conservative robes did always enjoy a challenge.

Instantly, at this, the thought of Draco in his room taking off his waistcoat to the soft candlelight entered her brain. Suddenly feeling a strange probing in the back of her mind, Hermione dissolved the thought quickly and looked up to see Professor Snape staring straight at her, his head tilted up a bit. His expression was damnably unreadable as always.

"Nevermind, Ms. LaLane, I shall read it for you then," Snape snarled. "Ten points from Hufflepuff. And I would like to see you, Ms. Granger, after class."

Eyes fell upon Hermione as Snape droned on about safety precautions while mixing potions, and Granger tried to focus on the black letters of the page before her, flushing, her stomach dropping with worry. Why on earth would Snape want to see her? He hated her, according to the snide remarks he always threw her way. But what had she _ever_ done wrong?

After what seemed like the longest period ever, bells rang and everyone left. Jeanie LaLane and her gaggle of Hufflepuffs gave Hermione a snarky look and left, leaving the girl in her front row seat, facing the imposing professor in black.

Snape finished making a note in his leather-bound ledger, then closed it with a puff of dust. He then began writing on a new freed piece of parchment.

"I will be late to next class, sir," Hermione reminded him, her palms sweating. "It's all the way across campus."

"I will write a pass for you, Ms. Granger."

"What about _your_ next period teaching? You should be busy…"

"This is my free period."

"Oh." Hermione's feet fiddled with each other, scuffing the polished black leather of her penny-loafers. _Well there goes my chance of ever escaping_, she thought.

"I know you are not thrilled to be here," he said dryly, still not looking at her. "But don't sweat so, Ms. Granger. You are not in any danger…well not of the academic kind."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "Please explain, Professor." There was a raw note in her voice, and it felt quivering coming out of her lips.

Snape proceeded to continue writing on the back of his paper. "I entered your mind today, Ms. Granger. Though I was there only for a second or two, I noticed Mr. Malfoy getting undressed in his room - "

"You _probed_ my _mind_!" Hermione cried, chest tight with shame and anger. "I've heard of this before, Professor! This is a huge invasion of privacy!"

"To give you credit, you do have a rather resilient mind, Ms. Granger – though it is weak from not being able to control things, it is cunning and quick."

"Stop with the compliments. They will sugarcoat nothing. This is a violation."

"Not as much a violation of you having _sex_ with another student."

Hermione flushed pink. "We never _had_ sex. I am his tutor, nothing more."

"Why you were in his room while Mr. Malfoy was undressing does not concern me," Snape clipped, looking up and meeting her eyes with his of pitch-black. "What matters is you are mingling with a…different character, Ms. Granger."

"Just because I am a Gryffindor doesn't mean I can't get to know a Slytherin, Professor."

"I know that…all too well," Snape said tightly, neck tensing. "But my point is you are in danger."

"What do you mean?"

Snape looked up from his parchment, stopping his writing. "I mean Draco Malfoy is a dangerous young man. His father has a history of dark art. I want to warn you, Ms. Granger, to stay away from him. Trouble abounds when he is around."

Offended, Hermione scoffed, "He is not trouble, Professor."

"_I_ am not _saying_ he _is_," Snape barked. Suddenly the teacher regained his composure. "I am only saying trouble follows him wherever he goes. So please…be careful. For my sake."

Silence muffled the air between them. For once, Hermione was at a loss for words.

"You may go to class, Ms. Granger," Snape said, handing her the piece of paper he had been writing on – it was her pass. "Good day."

Hermione took the paper shakily and nodded curtly with respect at him. She walked down the empty halls to her next class and shook like a leaf in the winter wind. Quiet greeted her footsteps.

Her Draco…dangerous? He grew in her mind like a fearsome serpent, striking like a viper, yet still remained a helpless child. She looked up at the portraits on the walls, and saw his face everywhere.

How could he be dangerous when he was merely a boy?

* * *

"Hello, Pansy," Draco said to his fellow Slytherin as he trudged off to class with her, disappointed and grouchy at not seeing Hermione. The fearsome girl at his side pressed close to him.

"Oh _you_ sound happy to see me," she snarled. "You looked like you were – ah – trying to hurry up to your next class, eh?"

"Yes," he said cautiously.

"Hm. So Hermione Granger had nothing to do with your hurrying?"

Draco looked at her in his peripherals. "No."

"Ah. Well I thought you looked like you were chasing her skirts like some panting dog."

"What do you _want_, Pansy?" he snapped, looking at her. She looked a bit taken aback for a moment, then jumped into the argument again.

"You left me _alone_ the night of the Yule Ball. You didn't even say goodnight. And a few of my girlfriends say they saw you in Hogsmeade with Granger yesterday."

"She's my _tutor_, Pansy." Draco was glad Hermione's lie could be useful.

"Well_ I_ was your _date_!" Pansy cried, turning the heads of a few students.

"For Merlin's sake, Pansy, I only asked you because you dropped hints like crazy!" he barked at her. "I didn't even want to ask you! And stop asking me about my personal life, because you're not my _girlfriend_!"

Pansy halted and took a step back, tears glistening in her eyes, bottom lip quivering. He caught his breath.

"Pansy, I'm so sorry," he apologized, trying to take her shoulder. The Slytherin girl just yanked herself away.

"Goodbye, Draco."

She shoved past his shoulder, throwing Draco back. He slammed against the wall, catching what little breath he had left, wishing he could bite back his words. He didn't like Pansy, but he could have let her down easier.

From his still place against the wall, Draco's eyes wandered over to see the open Potions room material closet cracked open and Professor McGonagall shuffling around inside it. For some reason, this surprised and intrigued Draco, for McGonagall, that old bag, never dabbled in potion materials. His grey eyes sorted through the possibility, and he tasted on his tongue a strange and bitter future.


End file.
